This is the moment when my skin bleeds.
I never expected it to purge the melancholy.
This is the moment when my blood hits the freshly cut grass under that big hard sun.
It always makes my eyes water uncontrollably.
This is the moment when my skin heals.
It's actually an accumulation of moments and some wounds don't actually heal, by the way.
This is when I stand in the freezing cold, hoping to feel connected to something that can make me feel like I once did.
I end up with cold fingers and sore feet.
This is when I call it a night, and dream of words unspoken.
You know those dreams where you want to cry out, but can't?
I used to convince myself that God was behind every flickering lamp post. I had hoped it was a sign. Meaning, fulfillment, purpose.
Love?
I still take long walks at night to find an answer to why my mind can't let go of the past. I remind myself that the future is bright. There really is a lot to look forward to. There's happiness ahead.
But like a stalking cloud, waiting to cover every little ray of sunshine, there will always be something in my mind. Something inexplicable. Something bleak. Something anxious to watch me bleed.
